


In My Solitude

by Pathologies



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pathologies/pseuds/Pathologies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason Cole Porter didn't write the blues. Based off the 2012 series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Solitude

They finally hosed off the red ichor caking the brick walls. They had to. Tenants were complaining about the smell coming up after two days. The police got their samples, not much they could do now.

“And they saw nothing?” the investigator asked.

“Not a single tenant,” the officer had finished rolling up the high-pressure hose into the car, Heard nothing, saw nothing. Just this blood.”

The investigator had nothing to go on and his leads were drying as fast as the water on the wall. Soon enough the case would get cold and then what? Waiting for someone else to go in ten years later?

He sighed, “These people...I’ll be damned if they make ignorance an ART.”

“Someone’s gonna crack,” officer was already in the squad car, “We’ll keep you updated when we do.”

“Right,” the investigator hopped in the squad car, “Can you believe it? They see ninjas, robots, an invasion of rats, giant turtles, but they can’t see on fucking murder.”

The engine roared to life, “Like you said: people in Manhattan have ignorance down to an art.”

Sighing, the investigator leaned back in the seat, “Makes me miss San Diego sometimes.”

It was dark, reeking of every horrible smell known to man. It was not a place not known for it’s hospitality to life. By definition a sewer washed away, pushed the unmentionable away from civilization. But it was home. He had came back, though he did not remember how. 

The fragments came in like needles raining on his head. First there was the monolithic creature he pummeled into submission. There was the hideous purple-pink color that saturated nearly everything in that world, a nauseating color that made his stomach churn. It soon became a parade of horrific creature after horrific creature before his eyes, things of shapes and sizes so familiar yet retaining their original horror. What choice did he have but mindlessly rip into the creatures before him, roars rumbling through his throat.

But they kept coming. Not even his strength could persevere forever. With enough electrocution they put him down like the animal they created. Everything after that came in shorter and shorter slivers: more wires lacing his back, more voltage traveling through his body, struggling in container after container. All these events only seemed to be threaded by a constant theme of pain. It was only when he awoke with bloody holes marking his body with the gash in his side. 

Other than agony, his mind grew inflamed with white-hot anger. He let them do it to him again! But he hoped, he prayed that he had done more than enough damage to them. The kraang, that word was scalded into his brain. The word played on loop in his mind over and over as he dragged his sore body through the drainage of the sewers. He could sense himself giving away into that unbreakable rage. He was smart enough to realize where this was going. He had to stop it. Somewhere in his sewers his home had to be there, he had to find his record. It might be able to keep it at bay. 

But the train was gone. It was hopeless. Everything was gone, everything...

...maybe not everything. Beneath one rusted rail track he found a glimmer of something. After much careful digging he managed to pull it out it. His record player survived after all. 

Michelangelo heard something rumbling through the sewer air. Everyone else had not heard it as they snoozed away in ignorant bliss. The turtle, however, was far too curious to let things alone. Urgently he snuck into Leonardo’s room, prying him awake, “Leo, hey Leo! I heard something!”

The leader’s body was like katanas buried beneath a pile of concrete--it wouldn’t budge.

“Leooooo,” he hissed before giving up. Guess he was going alone, he thought. Part of him should have known better than to wander out to investigate in the night solo. But Micheangelo had an irrepressible enthusiastic streak, how could he not check it out?

Funny, more noise seemed to be coming from that old subway station. He laughed, “That’s weird, that’s where...Leatherhead....”

He paused, staring out toward the station, “...lived.”

The turtle could believe a lot of things. But even he saw that the alligator wasn’t going to come back. Funny, he thought he got all the sadness out of his system...but he felt a little cut, like a paper cut of hurt at the mention of his name.

“Hey there better not be any Purple Dragons here!” it was best just to move on. Mikey knew you couldn’t hold on to hurt forever.

More distinct now, Mikey swore he could hear some kind music. It was a gentle voice fanning softly out through the air, “ _Like the beat beat beat of the tom-tom...When the jungle shadows fall..._ ”

“Man that music’s so familiar,” he giggled to himself, “Sounds like someone found Donnie’s lame old music.”

He continued, the music getting louder even through the crackling of whatever played it, “ _So a voice within me keeps repeating....you, you, you..._ ”

Soon enough the figure bent over the music was clear enough. There was hurt and then there are feelings you can’t describe. Mikey felt the latter much harder. It was like watching his own heart bottom out of his stomach.

“Leatherhead...?” it was obvious the alligator was hurt. It didn’t matter: not how he got here, not the lame music, just the fact he was here. The turtle quickly scrambled over, the alligator growling in surprise.

“It’s me!” he gave small reassuring hugs, “It’s me, Mikey! I thought you were gone for good!”

It didn’t even matter the blood getting on the turtle’s body as he held the alligator close. Weakly the mutant raised his head, “Michelangelo...? Has it been so long?”

“Yeah dude, I really missed you. We’re gonna do everything together. We’re gonna make pizza and play video games and we can even mess with Donnie’s head!” he sniffed, finding his eyes were leaking, “Man, Raph would cream me if he saw me like this.”

“ _Whether near to me, or far_ ," the record continued, “ _It's no matter darling where you are...._ "

The turtle began running off, “Come on! Aw man, everyone’s gonna be so happy to see you!”

But the alligator did not budge. The turtle stopped to see what became of the mutant, approaching him.

“Leatherhead?” he tugged at his arm, “What are you doing laying there? Donnie’s got tons more music like that! Let’s get rid of the record thing and go!”

One firm hand yanked the turtle still, “There’s...not much time.”

“What are you talking about? Everyone gets up whenever, except for Splinter, but he won’t mind!”

“Listen,” he growled, “I...don’t...” His eyes clenched shut with pain.

The record almost sounded like it was mocking them, “ _That this longing for you follows wherever I go...._ ”

Michelangelo may be a little dense, but eventually things in his head began clicking. Clicking, but not coming together, “It’s ok, just sleep! You sleep and then you can wake up alright, ok?”

Leatherhead realized he did not have the heart to tell the turtle. Like his uncontrollable rage, he could not stop himself from caring about his only friend’s well being. He knew telling him would just break the turtle. Breathing a deep sigh he gave room for the turtle, “Yes. We shall rest. But only if you will rest with me.”

“You bet...” Michelangelo felt something was deeply wrong, but he would not let his head grasp it. It wasn’t in him to assume the worst. Instead he curls with the bigger mutant, arms resting round his arms. The alligator smiled softly, “Thank you, Michelangelo. You were the only good...”

“Shhh,” he rubbed the lizard’s stomach, holding the mutant close, “You gotta rest, remember? We’ve got pizza to make.”

He nods, silently closing his eyes. Michelangelo laid next to him, eyes closed and listening to the alligator’s heavy breathing throughout the night. Sleep would not come so peacefully for the turtle. His only companions were the record and the ebbing thumps of an alligator heart. The facts were all laid out, but his mind would not let those facts surface. Not while there was still time. As far as Mikey cared, the dawn would never come, just as it should be. It was the longest night of his life. During the time neither said a word to each other, just Mikey holding the mutant as hard as he could, Leatherhead occasionally returning weak hugs before letting go. 

“ _Under the hide of me....there’s such a hungry yearning burning inside of me...._ ”

Mikey felt his throat turn dry and hard to swallow when the beat he heard refused to come back. His heart dropped out again when he heard no wheezes, coughs, or murmurs coming from his lungs. 

“Leatherhead...” his body wondered if it should freeze uselessly and panic, “Leatherhead, don’t fall asleep on me, bro. You still gotta make those pizzas!”

The dulcet tones continued regardless of anything else, “ _And this torment won't be through..._ ”

There was no reply, not even a small noise from the mutant. Mikey kept shoving the mutant, This is lamer than Donnie’s pranks! You can wake up, I know you can do it!”

Everything was coming together, it was soon dawning on the youngest brother just what happened. His shoves and shakes stopped as he sunk right by the alligator. He could pretend just a little longer before anyone found them, right? And even then the record player went on. If there was an irony about this, it was lost on the turtle.

“Man,” he wiped his eyes, “Raph would hate it if he saw me like this...”

How long was it? Hours? Days? Minutes? It was hard to tell. Not even the familiar voice could help him get a sense of time.

“There he is!” the tallest turtle pointed out. The others followed fast, soon stopped by the leader’s hand. 

Leonardo gave a firm look at the other two, “We better give him space, guys....”

Even Raphael nodded in agreement. In all honesty, they weren’t sure what was worse, seeing Leatherhead laying there when they thought he had gone, only for him to return lost forever. Leonard’s steps were weary, hands outstretched to the turtle. Mikey looked rough. His eyes stared out sunken, withdrawn, nothing like the turtle they knew. 

“Hey Mikey...” his hand hung out in front of the turtle, “Splinter’s getting worried about you. How about we go home, maybe get something to eat?”

It was a vain hope, thinking food would entice the turtle out of this...he didn’t even know what it was. It was like a depression-induced stupor, Mikey looking downcast and silent. 

The other turtles followed Leo closely, acting cautiously in every regard. The blue-masked turtle sat next to the youngest one. His words might be taken as a grain of salt for now, but he hugged the turtle close, “It’s ok, Mikey. It really is.”

Donatello and Raph soon took a seat with their brothers, each offering their own form of affection. Donnie gently patted his shoulder. Raph hugged Mikey, saying, “I’ll let you cry this time, it’s ok.”

They sat together for a long time, not a single one uttering a word. The record player eventually ground to a halt. The four sat silently, sharing the direction of Mikey’s gaze. 

Who knows how long it had been when Leonard finally turned to speak, “Are you ready to go home yet?”

Slowly, as if unsure, Mikey shook his head. Yes, he was ready. 

“Come on, let’s go.” The turtles slowly carried him together out of the subway. Off in the tunnel, Splinter was waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> The song on Leatherhead was "Night and Day" by the inimitable Cole Porter. Title based off the song by Billie Holiday. But really, I just wanted to get all the depressiveness out of my system.


End file.
